In 1971 I had a powerful dream during which I was walked around a large round silvered table, the surface of which was scored into segments, each containing symbols representing all of Man's belief systems.
I was told I would be loaned many gifts so I could understand the experiences others lived with. I was told my particular gift was being able to translate the ineffable.
Soon after that my life took a turn into a different head space.
Before then, as a child, I had a series of nightmares about which I wrote a poem.
That poem came into real life for the eighteen months following the birth of my third son in 1970.
Even before, at the age of 4, I witnessed women in my family gathered at my grandfather's deathbed.
They stand weeping by the bed
Grand-dad is dead.
He is not sitting in his chair
with a face full of hair
with me on his knee
all snuggly as can be
telling tales
of ships and whales
of places seen and been.
He is there
but he is not
they don't know I'm here to peek
Daren't ask them
how to find my Grand-dad
by myself, I'll have to seek.
My mother declared I was not actually there in the flesh. I was at a neighbour's house but my description of whom was standing where was accurate. The only other out of the body experience was when I was in hospital and in a deadlocked conflict with my first husband. I threw my mind to the ceiling and began to float out. Realising I was putting myself into a hypnotic trance I worried how to get back if I was out there somewhere. So before my feet left my body, I pulled myself back in. For some time afterwards everything I touched felt weird, as if this was the first time I had ever picked up and held a spoon. I spent the morning walking around, touching walls and reassuring myself, "This is a wall," etc.
As a child in waking hours, I 'saw' a hand raising out of a lake holding a sword. (My weapons to be (s)words?)
As a child in dozing hours, I saw myself floating in a coracle upon an underground lake of purple water and reaching out to touch a yellow flower which I now think must have been a lotus bloom.
Then nothing until the near death experience during an emergency Caesarian operation with the birth of my third son. As I was going under the anaesthetic I listened to a full orchestra's playing (did not recognise the piece), then sections dropped away until only the string section remained. And then each of the strings except one violin dropped away. Of the remaining violin, strings broke until only one remained and it was being tightened and ever more tightened. I KNEW if that string broke it would herald the end of the world.
My reaction to this was a sense of honour to have been allowed to live long enough to be witness to the end of the world. Of course, it was nearly the end of mine. The supervising surgeon stated to another (over me as they are wont to do) "very lucky, would have been a different outcome twenty years ago."
Over the years I have written poetry and have told myself that the images seen were from the minds of my lovers and I used to believe I could name the source of each poem - an exaggeration.
But following that third birth I had lots of adventures mostly by following my waking dream, believing I had a picture of who, or what or where but never why of what would happen soon or soon-ish. One night, while living rough and trying to catch some sleep in a cemetery, I thought I must be disturbing a courting couple until realising I was the only living soul in that place. I believe the soul lingers for up to forty days and nights and that these two voices were discussing their new situation? Who can tell? But I left the shelter of the yew tree under which I had been praying and made my way to the outer wall of the church. I heard music and thinking this yet another church service my feet had led me to, went inside. The organist was tuning the organ. He and another man were surprised, horrified that I had gained access as they were both sure the doors were locked. I knew in a position of prayer, daring them to interrupt. When I left, it had been raining. In the eighteen months of living rough I was always provided with shelter from the rain.
The other gifts loaned to me were second sight - seeing an image in front of my waking eye as if looking at a coloured slide. The image turned to be true in fact within hours. An address I had need to be.
Locating items by triangulating feelings flowing from my cheekbones and middle of the forehead. I would have to reread the account I have written within "Life Before Lithium" to recall all events.
To sum up
A witch used to chase me
through a three-dimensioned maze
always found an opening
but not the way out
before the maze disappeared
and the witch
turned into a tribe of gypsies
in full cry behind me
as I sped
from village hall
up the main road
between disused railway tracks
to the field
where pig-lilies grew.
Up the bank
across the recreation ground
up clay-slip slope
and stony path
gravel road
pine trees
by gate of school
to disappear.
But one night
the night they went
forever,
I made it.
Fell into the arms
of the waiting headmaster
deafened by the cheering school
the witch and gypsies
demons of my night
let me sleep
undisturbed.
That long journey through 1970-1972 saw me land at the feet of what must have been the tallest policeman in the Metropolitan Police as I came only to to his waist. With red hair and red beard as with my headmaster, he said "You never thought you'd make it, did you?"
As for translating the ineffable, my novel "Mixed Fortunes" is currently being prepared for publication. One theme is the way those who are illiterate view and navigate the world. When I had finally completed the writing and corrected the errors found by the proofreader, I had a dream during which several wise women nodded their approval. I think that task may be done. Leaving me to plot another novel and/or get back into the spoken poetry scene.
Thank you for your time and patience spared for the reading of this. I hope it is of some interest and am willing to discuss should there be any doubt or questions.